The Other Side of the Mirror
by takemetoeden
Summary: Sherlock's got his John, and Moriarty feels left out. So he recruits Sebastian Moran. Rated M because that's my typical writing style when I'm writing for my ships. This is MorMor. Don't like it? Read something else!
1. Chapter 1

Of course Sebastian Moran knows who James Moriarty is. It's his job to know. His life literally depends on it. As for Irene Adler... She and he had something of a history. He hardly flinches when she pulls out the chair opposite him and sits facing him in his favorite cafe.

"Hello, Sebastian."

He glances up over his mug of tea, then back down at the newspaper before him.

"Morning, Irene."

He feels her eyes boring holes in his, but does not look up.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Jim Moriarty."

That gets his attention. He raises his eyes to her.

"Jim Moriarty." His tone is incredulous.

"Yes. He'd like a word with you."

Sebastian scoffs.

"Wonder why." He mutters under his breath as he lifts his mug to his lips once again.

"It would be unwise of you to ignore him, Seb."

"I'm not going to ignore him. I value my life."

Some humor lights up in Irene's eyes.

"Smart boy."

Sebastian ignores the condescending term and takes a delicate bite out of a biscuit. He sees Irene look down into her lap, pull something out of her purse and look at it.

"What've you got there?" He asks without looking up, because it's obvious it's for him. She sets it on the table between them. It's an envelope-sized, maroon box, about an inch thick. Jewelry? "What's this?"

"Haven't a clue. It's for you."

Irene has the strangest look in her eyes as they bore into his. It's intense and Sebastian almost wants to call it... _Jealousy_.

He takes the box and opens it. Inside is a perfectly fitted envelope, with "Sebastian Moran" written on it in elegant cursive. His eyebrows crumple. He lifts it, finding it's heavier than a letter should be, and beneath the envelope...

His cheeks burn hot, and he slams the lid back down on the box.

"What? What is it?"

"Uhm... Nothing. So... Details are... In the envolu- Envel- _Envelope_, I assume?" He stammers. He seeks refuge from humiliation in his cooling tea. Irene narrows her eyes.

"I assume."

They sit in awkward silence for a while longer.

"Well, I have business to attend to. Don't want to keep my clients waiting." She makes to leave.

"Right. Have fun."

"You too, Sebastian, dear." She kisses him on the top of his head and leaves, her heels clacking distinctly amidst the quiet hubbub of the cafe.

As soon as she's gone, Sebastian opens the envelope. Inside is a key with the number 312 on it.

_Hope you like the gift. _(Sebastian blushes once more) _I've a proposition for you. The Langham at midnight if you're interested. _

'Jim Moriarty' is written in elegant scrawl across the bottom, and then beneath that:

_I expect you'll wear my gift._

Sebastian swallows, and looks down at the contents of the box.

It is, in fact, jewelry. Diamonds set in silver, it appears. It is a short, 1-inch bar with the diamonds on either end, intended for a piercing that... _Very_ few people in the world know Sebastian has. He cannot deny that he is impressed.

He affixes the envelope and letter back in the box, and shuts it. He then downs the rest of his tea, leaves his money on the table, pockets the key, and leaves.

* * *

Midnight finds Sebastian gazing up at the daunting Langham hotel, key in hand and piercing in place. He shifts his hips uncomfortably – he hasn't worn anything in it for years except simple studs to keep it open.

He resolutely steps up to the doorman, shows his key, and is let in. He somehow manages to find room 312 (a grande suite, naturally) through the marble columns and luxuriously upholstered chairs, the silk drapes and chandeliers and other exorbitant details. He is dressed in a finely tailored slate suit, not an article of clothing on his body worth less than 150 pounds. His job does have him well-off.

Finally, he finds the door with 312 carved into it and gilded. He unlocks it and steps in. The suite is as luxurious as he had expected. He closes the door behind him and takes a few more steps onto the ridiculous rug.

The glass doors leading out onto the balcony are open, the drapes swaying in the light breeze, and beyond them, he thinks he can make out the dark shape of a man against the city lights.

"Sebastian Moran." The voice is filled with respect and interest. Sebastian pulls the drapes apart and steps onto the balcony. The man in all black turns to face him.

_Blimey, he's fit for a psychopath_ is the first thought to run through Sebastian's mind.

"James Moriarty."

The psychopath in question slides one hand into his pocket easily, his other hand grasping a glass of whiskey. A strange smile breaks on his face.

"Such a lovely night, isn't it?" He gestures around.

Sebastian remains silent.

"Come, let's go inside." Moriarty slips past him, and he realizes just how short the other man is. "Would you like a drink?" But he's already pouring one for him.

"I got your _gift_."

James smiles again and sets down the pitcher, facing Sebastian.

"Did you like it?"

The gunman takes the drink being offered him, but doesn't drink yet.

"I must say, it sends mixed signals for your intentions tonight." He swirls his whiskey, still waiting to see the other man take a swig of his first.

"Just a token of my appreciation. I follow all your work. You're an artist, you are." James lifts his glass to his lips, and Sebastian follows suit.

"Always nice to meet a fan. I must say, your work is... Sublime. Elegant, in fact."

_Why are we stalling? Is flattery and flirting his method of gaining allies?_

That same, strange smile spreads across the psychopath's lips.

"I've always had a passion for the art, since I was a boy."

_Enough of this, I haven't got all night._

"So I understand you have a proposition for me?"

"Ah yes. Down to business. Please, sit." He gestures to the chairs, loveseat, the couch. He takes a corner of the couch himself. Sebastian eases into a chair, crossing his legs. He takes another swig of his whiskey.

"We both know what my proposition is. All I need is a yes or a no."

Sebastian looks at him, looks into the flat eyes of his.

"All I need is some incentive." It's a bold move, he admits, especially since it's _the _James Moriarty he is sat across from. He is rewarded with yet another smile. He can't quite be won over by the strangeness of it or the charm in it. He is caught right between the two.

"How about a million pounds per kill?"

He feels his mouth go dry. He takes another sip of his whiskey.

"Yes, that should do quite nicely."

He is observed silently for a moment.

"Also, one other thing. A friend of mine, very much like me, has acquired a sort of... Companion. And I'm jealous."

Sebastian feels a crease form between his brows.

"I don't understand. Is this 'companion' my first job?"

"No no. I'm jealous that he gets a sidekick and I don't."

Realization sinks in.

"You want _me_ to be your... Your... Whatever?"

"Yes, I would very much like you to be my whatever."

He is stunned silent for a moment.

"Why me?"

"Because I like you." The other man shrugs and leans back on the couch. "You're talented and gorgeous and I want you." Sebastian swallows, feels his ears warm slightly. "And I generally tend to get what I want."

This was weird. Almost too weird for him, but for _a million pounds_ _per kill..._ He cleared his throat.

"What exactly would this... _Companionship... _Entail?"

"I don't know. I've never tried it. I suppose... Come when I call, let me have my way with you. That sort of thing."

"So like a slave?"

_A weird, kinky, sex slave assassin._

"If you like. Except you're getting paid."

"To be an assassin, not a pet."

"So do your job well." Sebastian narrows his eyes. "I'll make it worth your while."

He honestly wishes he could refuse, walk away with his dignity in tact, but _one million pounds per kill _is three times the amount of the highest bidder he had worked for until then. He'd have to be mad to refuse this offer.

"When do I start?"

* * *

**AN: Hello! Welcome to my first attempt at mormor! I have a passion for all things Sherlock, and have already written a few Johnlock fics, so it seemed only natural that I should try some mormor. Updates will come as quickly as I can procrastinate on studying for finals, so you shouldn't have to wait that long. :P **

**Little fun fact: Today is my 17th birthday! (May 13th, 2012 if you're reading this in the future. Hello! I'm from the past! What's it like in the future? Oh bother... I need friends.)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian receives his first job the next day in the form of a text. It reads:

_ First day on the job. Make daddy proud._

A shudder runs down the length of his spine, which he tries to convince himself is due to disgust.

_ Sick bastard..._ He thinks to himself.

Attached is a picture file of a man in a suit. Sebastian recognizes him somehow, but has no hint where to find the man. He guesses it must be a test to see how little he could go on.

He's gotten the job done with less.

* * *

Time passes slowly between jobs. He lives for the jobs. His income literally depends on it, but there is something else. Another reason he does it.

He would never tell anyone, but a very dark part of him thrills to the sound of a gunshot. It's like a game of God. He gets to call the shots on who lives and who dies. He's unstoppable. Ever since he was a boy, he has liked to play God.

He gets a rush just thinking about it. About looking through the sights, finding his target, drawing out the last precious moments of a human's life and then finally squeezing the trigger, watching a life end at his hand...

His pot of water starts boiling over.

* * *

The man is a member of parliament. That is why he recognized him. He has killed men in parliament before.

There is the remains of a condemned apartment complex just opposite the man's hotel room, luckily enough. He doesn't know why the man is staying in a hotel. It isn't his job to know that.

The sun set hours ago. He works best under the cover of night. It makes it easy for him to separate Sebastian from Sebastian Moran, trained assassin.

He's just watching the man through his sites, witnessing his last moments and breathing the cold night air. What will his last actions be? It's a fascinating game to play, like looking at an ant through a microscope, waiting before leaning away and letting the sun do its job.

Sebastian Moran waits like a panther until he can't stand to wait a second longer. He squeezes the trigger...

The man falls back headfirst, spraying red on the furniture and carpet.

Sebastian stands and begins disassembling his gun. He deftly puts the pieces back into his duffel bag and leaves.

* * *

The next day, Sebastian wakes up and finds a newspaper on his tidy bedside table. The cover story is the assassination of the man he killed. There's a post-it on top of it.

_Beautifully done._

Sebastian quirks an eyebrow and gets up to take a shower.

When he gets out, no sooner has he toweled his hair dry that his phone rings. The number is hidden, so he is pretty sure it's Moriarty, but not 100%.

"Moran."

"Sebastian!"

Yep. He was right.

"Moriarty."

"Good morning! Have a nice shower?"

Sebastian narrows his eyes.

"Nice enough."

Asking would be admitting that Moriarty is too clever for him.

"You're not wearing my gift. Why not wear it all the time? It suits you so nicely."

Sebastian's face has already filled with blood, and a towel decorously draped around his waist by the time the man on the other end of the phone finishes his sentence. He has to physically bite his tongue not to ask.

"Bit too fancy for a shower."

A chuckle.

_The bastard's bugged my apartment. Shit._

Sebastian opens his bathroom door and walks out of the steam, shutting the light off as he leaves.

"Don't you think this is a bit much? I said I'd come when you call. Do you not trust me?"

Silence.

"I like to keep an eye on you."

Sebastian looks up at the light fixture in his room, finding a small camera hidden in it.

"Uh-huh. So, what did you call me for? It can't have been to tell me you're spying on me."

"No, I'd like to see you."

The sniper sits on his bed, pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, when?"

"As soon as possible." His tone implies the word _naturally_ at the end.

"Where?"

"How about your place?"

Sebastian raises his free hand, as if to say _where else?_ He sighs.

"Sure, let me just-"

"No need."

Moriarty opens his front door and leans in, his phone still to his ear. He's grinning in that odd way he does, and Sebastian stands.

This time, he's not fast enough to stop himself.

"How did you...?" He bites his tongue. _Dammit._

The shorter man steps all the way in, his grin broadening.

"A magician never shares his secrets." He shuts the door behind him.

The assassin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

"So what's so important it couldn't wait for me to get dressed?"

Moriarty is approaching him, hands in pockets.

"You know, for a trained military assassin, you're very... Chaste."

Sebastian swallows. Moriarty is cornering him. He tries to subtly side-step him, but he knows he wouldn't be able to get past him. That's his thing, right? Noticing what others do not.

On top of that, he feels his damn face betray him, his cheeks filling with blood. A soft smile spreads like butter on Moriarty's face.

"A blushing gunman. How pathetic." Sebastian locks his jaw, and opts against backing down. He stands tall as the shorter man comes to a stop not a foot before him. "Still. You're pretty."

Sebastian fists his hands by his side and tries to look anywhere but into those flat blue eyes, staring up at him so expressionlessly.

"You never answered my question."

"Right. Why I'm here."

Moriarty finally drops his eyes, lighting on Sebastian's chest. He draws a finger up the center of the sniper's moulded stomach and chest.

_One mill per kill, one mill per kill..._ He manages to remain completely still.

He inhales, feeling very strange, but keeps still nonetheless. The finger travels back down, and then traces horizontally just above his towel.

"Have you got any tea?" He asks conversationally, still running his finger feather-light against his skin.

"I have."

"I'll have a cup, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

But Jim doesn't move. Just keeps watching his fingers running over Sebastian's front.

"Er... Boss?"

"Hmm?"

The pad of his middle finger slides over Sebastian's left nipple, and a small tremor shakes in his core, fills his neck with blood.

"Shall I... Fetch it for you?"

Jim smiles, his attentions now trained on Sebastian's collarbone.

"Yes."

Sebastian stays there a moment more to see if Jim stops. He doesn't. Sebastian clears his throat and awkwardly shifts past him, toward the kitchen.

"Right, herbal or black?"

"Black."

"Sugar or cream?"

"No."

Sebastian's eyebrows quirk, but he continues preparing the tea.

He's turned around, putting the kettle on when Jim enters.

"I really do wish you would put it on."

Sebastian turns around to find the other man standing in the doorway, his hand wrapped around what Sebastian assumed was his extravagant gift.

"For Chrissake..." He mutters under his breath before reaching out his hand. "Alright."

But Jim isn't handing it over. He's rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, smiling oddly. _Oh no..._

"No no no. Jim..." His outstretched hand turns palm-down, keeping Jim at a distance. The man inclines his head.

"_Sir_." He corrects. He takes a step forward. "And let's not forget our agreement."

Sebastian grits his teeth and narrows his eyes. Jim has him right where he wants him, he has a metaphorical on him, and how he wants to fasten his literal leash on his... _Pet._

_ Shit._

"Sir."

Jim smiles and stands before him.

"Good boy." He deftly loosens Sebastian's towel with two fingers, and it falls to the floor. The taller man swallows, but refuses to shy away from his blank stare. He keeps eye contact steadily.

He hears the faint squeal of the diamond screwing off, and then he is seized by Jim's long, slender hand. He draws a sharp inhale through clenched teeth, instinctively pressing himself harder into the counter.

"There, you see?" The shorter man whispers. "You're _mine._" He squeezes slightly, and Sebastian groans quietly.

Jim's thumb finds one end of the piercing, and Sebastian has to squeeze the edge of the counter to keep from crying aloud as the silver bar is slid into place, none-too-gently. Jim keeps eye contact the entire time, as if testing to see how long Sebastian could keep it together.

The end of the piercing is screwed back in place. Jim's hand slides up Sebastian's body, coming to rest on the front of his throat gently, as if he would choke him. He swallows, his adam's apple sliding against Jim's palm.

"Don't take it off." He says dangerously.

_One mill per kill one mill per kill one mill per kill one mill_

"Yes, sir."

Jim's smile is getting to be familiar. It breaks on his face and he pats Sebastian's cheek twice before turning and leaving the kitchen.

* * *

After Jim leaves, Sebastian realizes why he does this. Why he toys with him, why he keeps him on such a tight leash...

It's because Jim Moriarty _knows. _

The clever bastard knows why he loves his job. He knows the thrill he gets from playing god. Which means he must get a different kind of thrill from having a god on a leash.

_Fuck._

* * *

**AN: I told you that you wouldn't have to wait long for updates! Feedback is great, but if you like it as is, I'm not pressuring you to leave a review. ^^****  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Soooo I had this complex, where I wasn't sure if I would have Seb debug his bathroom. Like, maybe Jim is the only one who has been able to outsmart him in that department and he can't find the cameras, which leads to Jim coming over and saying something along the lines of "I hate being able to look but not touch" (and that ended... Very... Wet...) but then I got to thinking "Jesus, I wonder if Jim watches Seb... Like... Using the toilet" and then it got weird and I wanted him to debug his bathroom, which led to Jim coming over to make sure Seb was still wearing his gift, and when he found out he wasn't, he had to... Well, punish him... And THAT ended with... Handcuffs... And blood... But then Jim only had cameras in Seb's shower part of his bathroom... Which leads to the first outcome... But then I took pity on Sebastian, because he must feel weird having a morning wank in the shower, knowing he has an audience. And so I went with the debugging. And the following is what ensued. *evil grin***

* * *

Sebastian is perpetually impressed by Jim. It takes him 20 minutes to find all the cameras in his bathroom, and after that, he just doesn't even care about the others throughout his flat.

He's also learning not to be surprised by anything anymore, which is why he hardly even looks up from his book when Jim walks in.

"Evening, dear. I've got a job for you."

"You spend far too much time on me. I can't imagine you don't have anything better to do."

He does look up now, his eyebrows raised. Jim shrugs.

"I'm investing in you, Seb." As he says this, he approaches the couch where Sebastian is reclining. He comes to a halt between him and the coffee table. "Are you going to make me regret it?"

Sebastian sets his book down on the couch next to him and swallows.

"No, sir."

"Good."

Jim moves very slowly, as if daring Sebastian to object or move or stop him, but he doesn't move as Jim puts his knees on either side of his hips and rests his arms around his shoulders. He just swallows again, trying to work up some spit in his dry mouth.

He can't tell if it's from fear or... Something else... But he thinks that's how Jim likes it. Caught in between, like his response to Jim's smile.

"Like I said, I have a job for you."

Sebastian nods.

"But I'd like to come with."

The sniper's eyebrows shoot up.

"Why?"

"I'd like to watch the painter behind his brushes."

Jim is so close, Sebastian can smell his heady cologne.

"Um, I... I've never... Not... Not sure that'd..."

"Ah ah ah. Not a question, dear."

A finger is placed over Sebastian's stuttering lips, and he closes them.

"Now you're going to be a good boy and get dressed, collect your effects, and come with me. Aren't you?"

All the moisture in his mouth is absent, and it's almost painful to swallow, but he does it out of habit. He nods solemnly. Jim smiles.

"Good." He deftly presses a kiss to Sebastian's lips and stands.

It takes a good 18 seconds for him to collect his wits again and return to full cognitive awareness.

* * *

15 minutes later, and Sebastian is still puzzling and reeling. Jim probably had not put a lot of thought into it, it was most likely an impulse, but it is not so insignificant to Sebastian.

The shorter man has led him to the roof of a local television station that has closed for the night. He stands at a distance, silently watching Sebastian assemble his gun and tripod.

The assassin is shaken and and unsettled. He can't shoot accurately like this. So he rounds on Jim.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Jim shrugs.

"Dunno, just wanted to. Why? Did it bother you?" He asks, as if he actually cares. Sebastian shifts his weight.

"It was... Alarming." He turns back to his gun, deciding not to push the topic. He kneels before his gun to level his eye with the sights, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Jim squat next to him.

"Was it really?"

Sebastian glances at Jim nervously, then back through the sights at his target.

"Yes. It was... Unexpected. And generally viewed as a gesture of affection."

Jim seems to quietly speculate this. He leans back until he's sitting, watching Sebastian. The assassin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he is Sebastian Moran, a lion stalking his prey.

The power he feels calms his nerves. He goes to a different part of his mind, watching the portly man talk on the phone. He wonders who he's talking to. His wife? A mistress? A colleague? He wonders if the person on the other side of the phone will call 999.

He watches the man for a few moments more before deciding to end his life. He's buzzing by the time he squeezes the trigger.

"Beautiful." Jim whispers over to his left. Sebastian indulges in a smile. "Truly, it's a gorgeous thing to watch you. You must feel like God."

Sebastian's smile fades, and he looks at Jim.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they both arrive back at Sebastian's flat. The taller man drops his keys on the coffee table and goes to unpack his gear. When he comes back out, he finds Jim staring out of the window into the dark streets of London.

"You know... Ever since you took me out of your bathroom... I don't know if you've still got my leash on you." He says as Sebastian walks back in.

_Shit..._

He's not wearing it. He completely forgot. It's on his bathroom sink. Jim turns to look at him.

"Are you wearing it, Sebastian?"

He swallows. Jim's expression turns dark.

"I said, are you wearing it?" He approaches him.

Sebastian holds out a hand and begins to back up into his bedroom.

"Hold on, boss, I just... It slipped my mind, I was going to put it back in-"

"You're _not wearing it?_"

Sebastian's calves hit the edge of his bed.

_Not good not good not good..._

"You were told _never_ to take it off. You are _mine._"

"I know, and I'm sorry, boss, I just-"

"Sorry isn't going to cut it."

Jim slips a hand into his jacket, and Sebastian fears the worst, but what he pulls out of his jacket is far worse than what Sebastian had been imagining.

Handcuffs.

"Jim-"

"_Sir._"

"Sir, honestly, is this _necessary_?"

"You disobeyed a direct order. Punishment is in due."

Jim pulls out another pair of handcuffs.

"Ah, _shit..._"

"Take off your shirt."

"Sir, can't we at least-"

"_Now._"

Sebastian slowly complies, reminding himself of how much he is getting paid... He drops his turtleneck on the carpet.

"On the bed."

He grits his teeth and chokes on his pride as he sits on the bed and scoots back. Jim walks to one side of the bed.

"Lay back."

_Why am I letting myself be submitted to this? I am a god amongst men._

_A million pounds per kill._

He lays back, and stretches out his hand in anticipation of Jim's next command. He watches in mild panic as his wrist is handcuffed to the bedpost. The psychopath gives the same treatment to the other wrist.

Sebastian gazes up at the ceiling, feeling his shoes and socks pulled off his feet. He grimaces.

Then, something he does not expect. He feels nimble fingers undoing his dress pants. He lifts his head in confusion.

"Sir, what are you...?"

"Don't speak." Jim gives him such a dangerous look as he pulls Sebastian's pants off of his feet. So he shuts up. He is at quite a disadvantage in this situation.

He struggles with himself not to keep pressing for answers when he feels his boxers being tugged off of his body. He lifts his head to see Jim's expression, only to find he has shed his jacket and is rolling up his shirt sleeves. _The hell...?_

Panic twists in his stomach even more intensely when he feels the bed shift as Jim kneels between his legs, forcing them apart further.

He expects the worst, which is why he is so shocked when he feels a warm pressure sliding up the underside of his manhood, which instantly hardens. Is Jim really going to...?

Yeah, he is.

The moist heat that envelops him can only be Jim's mouth. Sebastian can no longer lift his head to look. His mouth opens in a perfect O.

All sense of decency flees, and he lets out a wanton moan as Jim does things with his tongue that Sebastian had never even heard of. He couldn't even imagine just what it was doing, he could only _feel_.

The assassin tugs at his bindings in frustration. His hips buck, and he has to bite his lip until it bleeds to keep from speaking. He wouldn't put it past Jim to bite...

The buck of his hips is met with hands holding them down, and he groans, unable to speak, simply writhing beneath Jim.

The psychopath brings him right to the top, and then... He just pulls away.

So _this_ is his punishment.

"_Fuck...!_" He mutters.

"Now maybe you'll think twice before disobeying me." Sebastian desperately watches Jim collect his jacket. "Have fun with that." He smirks.

"Wait! Jim, you_ can't_ just...! Jim!"

But he's gone.

Sebastian's head flops down on the pillow with a groan.

* * *

**AN: Apologies for this being a shit sex scene. I'm usually better with this kind of stuff, except it's 1:40 am and it's finals week and my body is literally collapsing from all the stress. Maybe I'll edit this and reupload it sometime... Anyway, sorry that you have to deal with this for now!**


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